


Undone

by Flippedeclipse



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Break Up, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flippedeclipse/pseuds/Flippedeclipse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus' homeworld is burning, his family is missing, and the galaxy is falling apart. The one thing that kept him going was Shepard... and now she's left him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Heartbreak

The main battery was warm and calm, the slight hum of the guns echoing off the walls. Garrus placed the small bag that housed all his belongings by the door as he stepped into the room. The lighting was slightly dimmer, and they had put in a new screen along one wall, but was pretty much just as he remembered. He powered up the console in front of the guns, quickly scanning through the firing programs he had spent months perfecting; just a brief glance told him that he wasn't quite done with calibrations yet, as the Alliance engineers had apparently felt the need to tinker with his code.

He huffed, then moved to examine the guns. Repairmen had made space to access the cannon hardware more easily, and a closer inspection showed that they hadn't quite finished their retrofitting, and the panelling still needed to be fixed. Well, he thought, may as well get started now.

He packed away his things, then picked out a few tools from the drawer under the console and began to put the panelling back in place. It was boring but soothing, which helped ebb the adrenaline still running in his veins from the fighting earlier. The cannons were the same ones he'd installed all those months ago, and he wondered why they hadn't been replaced by newer models which were on the market now. The room was silent, and he enjoyed the peace and quiet of the Normandy. It had been too long since he'd been here, and the normalcy was a pleasant relief.

His mind wandered to the day's events, replaying everything in snippets. It had been a hell of a day, that was for certain. A Primarch dead, a new one crowned (one of his friends, no less), and Shepard had found him. The pure joy he had felt when he first saw her jogging up the stairs of the bunker to speak with Corinthus washed over him again. Seeing her alive had quelled the pit of fear that he had carried for well over a week, ever since the news of the attack on Earth had filtered through Palaven military. He'd had barely enough time to swallow the information before Primarch Fedorian had him relocated to Menae, speaking of Reaper scouts on the edges of the Apien Crest. It was lucky, really, that he had been there when Shepard came; another week or so and they would have lost that moon, and he would have gone with it.

Shepard. How many times had he repeated her name in his mind, finding strength in his memories of her to live another day? Everything he knew was falling apart around him, from his family to his homeworld, but the thought that she was out there somewhere had sustained him through that hell. He would have never even imagined she would find him there and bring him home; even after six months spent travelling on Palaven, there was nothing quite as comforting as the wide white halls and bright lights of the Normandy. He switched a screwdriver for a wrench, and wondered in afterthought if the comfort he felt here was because of the ship itself or it's commanding officer. Probably the latter.

A ping overhead disturbed his thoughts, and he looked up at the camera where he knew the ship's AI was watching. EDI had grown on him immensely during the suicide mission; her knowledge and intelligence had been incredibly useful during his calibrations. He'd come to respect her as an equal by the time Shepard turned herself in to the Alliance.

"Officer Vakarian, there is an incoming call for you from Primarch Victus," EDI's voice resounded off the metal walls. He flared his mandibles crookedly at the camera.

"Please, it's just Garrus. I'm glad to see the Alliance didn't turn you into scrap metal, though I'm curious how you managed to escape being discovered...."

"They had no reason to suspect a mere VI, after all," she replied with a tinge of amusement. Aha, he thought, of course. "Shall I put the Primarch through?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Logging you out, Garrus."

Her voice was replaced by the deep, flanging one of the Primarch, who sounded just as weary as Garrus felt.

"Garrus, settled in alright?"

"Yes sir, it's good to be back."

The Primarch's rumbling laugh filled the room. "I'm glad at least one of us is familiar with the ship, I can barely find my way around here. I had some things to discuss with you concerning the fleets, if you have a moment?"

"Of course, sir."

 

They had been speaking for quite a while when he heard the familiar swishing sound of the door opening. Must be making her rounds, he thought, but didn't look up from the soldering iron in his hand.

"If anything, you can count on Shepard, sir. She'll get the job done."

"I'll hold you to that, Garrus. I'll let you get back to work." The intercom buzzed out above him, and he finally turned off the iron and turned to look at Shepard. She was leaning against the wall just a few metres from him, a small smile on her face as she observed him. She looked slightly more weary than he remembered, but otherwise she was just as he'd left her, which was assuring. She held his gaze for a moment before speaking.

"Garrus, didn't waste any time getting to work I see." He flared his mandibles in a grin.

"After everything I've been through lately, calibrating a giant gun is a vacation. Gives me something to focus on." She nodded and pushed away from the wall to take a few steps closer to him, placing a hand against the railing.

"We're gonna need you for more than your aim."

He looked away for a moment to collect his thoughts. Everything seemed okay; it was a good sign. "Oh, I'm ready for it. But I'm pretty sure we'll still need giant guns, and lots of them."

She laughed softly, the sound pleasant in his ears. It made him realize just a little more how much he had missed her. "I can't argue with that." She relaxed further as silence fell between them but he stiffened, wringing his hands slightly. He had to ask. Get it over with before he got too hopeful.

"Yeah... so..." He pressed a hand against the cold panelling of the gun, and looked her straight in the eye. "Is this the part where we... shake hands? Wasn't sure about the protocol on reunions." He paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to say the next words without driving her away, because Spirits knew that was the last thing he wanted right now. "Or if you still feel the same way about me. The scars are starting to fade, I remember they drove you wild." She laughed again, but he didn't miss the nervous undertone in it. He stepped closer, not quite reaching for her. "But I can get all new ones if it'll help."

Well, he thought, not bad for a last ditch effort. She was quiet for a moment, before exhaling and straightening herself.

"I appreciate everything you've been to me, Garrus." The knot in his stomach tightened; he knew what was coming, and wasn't ready to hear those words. "A friend, a lifesaver, and more. But right now, I need the friend. I need you watching my back."

He looked at her for a moment longer, before turning away to hide his surprise. Dozens of emotions flitted through his mind, harassing him with self-deprecating thoughts, but he suppressed them as best he could. Shepard could leave if she wanted to, after all. He had no right to force her to stay. "I understand. Distractions could be dangerous at a time like this." He turned back to face her, even though meeting her eyes just... hurt.

"You were never a distraction, Garrus."

Well, he thought, if you're gonna be just friends, at least end it well. "Well, whatever we were, I enjoyed it Shepard. No regrets here."

"Never."

"Then friends it is." They shook hands, and he memorized the feel of her skin one last time before letting go. If that was all he could have, he could live with that.

"So," she started, a smile forming on her face, "what's this about being an expert advisor on Reapers?"

 

The door closed behind Garrus with a muffled hiss, and he didn't know whether to sigh in relief or hit his head against the wall. He compromised, bracing his hands against the console and letting his head hand slack as he tried to understand what just happened. Questions flooded his thoughts, all of which he had no answer to. 

He didn't know what to do. The silence ate at him as his mind drifted once more, to past memories and future plans and — Oh. Right. He heaved a sigh and reached for the drawer where he had placed a rather pricey bottle of wine to share with Shepard whenever they had a chance. Of the few things he had brought with him before being transferred to Menae, he'd remembered to bring this. It had been a spur of the moment purchase really, something he'd seen at a liquor store in Cipritine while searching for his favourite brandy, and couldn't help but get after thinking of Shepard. At the time, it had felt slightly silly. Now it just made him an utter fool.

He set the bottle down on the console, staring at it as if it had all the answers to Shepard written on the label. He debated inwardly, trying to figure out what to do with it. There was no reason to save it for a good occasion now, and it would be a waste of good credits to dump it. He entertained the idea of cracking it open and drowning his thoughts in it, and the little voice in his head found the idea quite agreeable. At least it would make the numbness go away.

He opened the bottle and dug out a glass from another drawer. He poured more than he usually did, but thought nothing of it as he downed it all in one long swallow. Well, at least it was the good stuff.


	2. Split in Direction

Shepard was many things to many people. A friend, an adversary, a lifesaver, a life-ender. But she had been a lover to a grand total of three people in her lifetime; one was dead, and the other two were currently on her ship. To say she was inexperienced in the whole "breaking up" department was an understatement.

She knew there would be regret, and she was completely ready for that, but she wasn't prepared for the longing that set in the moment the doors closed behind her with an air of finality. It hung over her as she walked down the gangway, smiling weakly at the crewmen who nodded at her. She paused, then, wondering what to do next. Normally she'd finish her rounds and get started on her reports, but she just wanted to curl up alone in her bed right now. Well, that or turn around and go back to the main battery, and just spend time with Garrus. It seemed like an eternity ago when she'd make her way down there every day during the nightshift, cleaning her guns while he worked on his programs, simply chatting while they worked. She missed his familiar presence, but she'd gone and screwed that up for certain.

It's for him, she reminded herself, it's better this way. And it would be. Garrus hadn't fared well the last time she died, and if it were to happen again... she needed him strong, no matter what. If it meant ending their relationship, then so be it, no matter how much it hurt.

Her feet had taken her to Liara's cabin, where she hesitated for a moment. Liara and her had... history, and she had avoided speaking with the asari too much because of it. She wasn't ready to commit to anything yet, and there was no doubt in her mind that if Liara had the opportunity to, she'd bring the topic up. Plus, she didn't know if she was prepared for the other woman's come-ons right now, not after what just happened.

A little chat won't hurt, she reasoned, it might even help clear up your head. With that, she tapped open the door. At first she figured Liara wasn't in, but then noticed the bed on the far wall, where she was sitting with stacks of datapads surrounding her. She looked up and smiled at her warmly, as Shepard made her way towards her.

"Shepard," she greeted, "how are you?"

She stopped by the foot of the bed at picked up a datapad at random, which coincidentally held a partial report of the damages on Palaven. "I'm alright. Were you busy?"

She could feel Liara's gaze on her; no doubt she was curious as to why she sounded so tired, but Shepard didn't look up. "I'm setting up a few shipments of resources to the Crucible project, among other things." Shepard caught movement in her peripheral vision as Liara got off the bed and circled towards her, stopping just outside her personal space bubble. Of course, that didn't stop her from reaching up and placing a hand on Shepard's cheek, drawing her eyes up to meet Liara's. "What's wrong?"

Shepard resisted the impulse to flinch away from the touch. This wasn't what she wanted at all right now. "It's nothing." Liara seemed to buy it. "Really."

"Well, I'm here if you need me." This tim, she couldn't stop herself from twitching; her words were too reminiscent to what Garrus used to say after their regular chats. Liara didn't miss the gesture.

"I'll let you get back to work," Shepard said, moving to pull away. This had been a bad idea. Liara's other hand flew to her arm and held tightly, a mischievous glint reflecting in her eyes.

"I'm not that busy, and we haven't had time yet for a more... thorough reunion yet." Shepard's face went blank. Had she really taken her flinching as a positive reaction? She needed to get out of there, now. She couldn't do this, not after she'd just dumped her best friend.

Her omnitool pinged right then conveniently, and she took the opportunity to pull out of Liara's grasp to check her messages. It was from Cortez. "Not today, Liara," she muttered, heading quickly toward the door. "I'll talk to you later." She left the room without looking back, unsure if she wanted to see the expression on her face right now.

The door closed behind her, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Liara didn't deserve this, but for once, she was being selfish about things. She pulled up the message from Cortez, which informed her that the upgrades she ordered earlier had come in. She headed toward the elevator, grateful for something to keep her occupied.

 

Shepard quite liked the shuttle bay. Even on the original Normandy, she had enjoyed spending time down there. This one was brighter, but the gentle whirring of machinery, the large vaulted ceilings, and the buzzing from the fluorescent lights all added to an environment that lulled her to calmness. She briefly glanced around as the elevator door swung open. James was sparring with one of the privates who guarded the security check outside the war room; what was her name? Bethany? Shepard wasn't sure, though it was obvious the two were flirting openly. Normally this would have made her smile, but she really wasn't in the mood to see relationships blossoming at the moment.

Cortez was diligently tapping away at the console by her locker, so she approached him.

"Cortez," she greeted with a nod.

"Ma'am," he replied with a salute, then gestured toward the weapon bench, where a medium-sized crate sat. "That just came in for you. Thought you'd want to have a look at it."

"Of course, thanks for the heads up." He nodded in reply, then turned back to his work. She walked over and clicked open the security lock, the lid hissing as it lifted automatically. The inside was filled with various little boxes, packed tightly. She took them out one at a time, counting to make sure all of her upgrades had come in. Upgrades for her Katana, her Shuriken, Liara's Predator... and Garrus' Mantis. She paused, staring at the five boxes as she absently lined them up in a neat row. God, had she been that excited when she finally had Garrus back? Enough to spend something close to 30 000 credits just to surprise him? It had only been four hours ago when she'd put in these orders, but she felt like a different person now. Back then she was overjoyed; now she just felt tired, weary, and, well, alone.

It doesn't have to be this way, that little hopeful voice of her conscience piped, you can still fix this. She stomped that out quickly, though. She rarely went back on her decisions, especially ones as important as Garrus' well-being.

She placed the empty crate under the bench and glanced at the rows of boxes on the bench for a moment, then turned away. She mumbled a goodbye to Cortez, no doubt drowned out by the grunts from Vega and his sparring partner, and stepped back into the elevator, hitting the first floor button a little too hard.

The elevator silently rose, and Shepard leaned against the back wall. She reminded herself that she had done this for Garrus, to make sure he would be alright if she bit the bullet (literally, in her case); it would lessen the pain if that happened. It wasn't an easy decision to make, and perhaps she had made it in a rush after four hours of meetings and debriefings earlier, not to mention that he had asked so suddenly too. Though he had never said so, she always felt slightly responsible for his actions on Omega, partly because she had been the one who encouraged his more ruthless side on the original Normandy. And that had been his reaction before they had taken their friendship one step further. Now... now even she didn't know what he'd do if she died, and that scared her.

It wasn't that Garrus had a hair trigger personality; it was more that his sense of justice made him unpredictable. In a way, he was similar to Samara and her Justicar code; bound by rules that only they understood. Garrus saw her genocide of 300 000 Batarians as sensible, but saw the murder of his squad worthy of revenge. She had stopped him from killing Sidonis to atone for the mistakes she made two years previous upon the original Normandy, but it didn't really make a difference; she found out later that he still harboured a tiny amount of resentment against her for stopping him, despite everything. They had argued about her decisions many times in carefully measured voices, though never finding common ground. She wished now that she had tried even harder to understand this facet of his personality, because it would have given her a little more insight on whether leaving him had been the right decision.

The elevator slid smoothly to a halt, interrupting her thoughts. She passed through the two sets of doors and entered her cabin, which was completely silent, save for the gentle swishing of water in the fish tank. She ignored the blinking light of her terminal as she headed for the bathroom. Right now, she needed a shower, a blanket, and a nice glass of brandy, in that order. The Reapers could wait for a few hours, first she had to clean up the mess that was Commander Shepard.


	3. Wish You Well and Let You Go

Garrus had lost track of what drink he was on a long time ago. He didn't get drunk often, mostly because he didn't handle it well. Red and blue swam in front of his vision pleasantly, but he found he couldn't focus on any particular shape.

His back was pressed against the wall now, or maybe it was the door, and he slid down until he hit the floor. By some miracle the bottle of wine was still intact, but he'd lost his glass somewhere along the way. Shrugging, he took a swig straight from the bottle, even though it took a bit of effort to line up the lip of glass with his mouth.

"Shep," he mumbled, almost incoherently. The alcohol had definitely helped with numbing the pain, but it had done nothing to help him forget. "Missed you." He tried to sit up a little better, but only managed to send the room spinning again in his vision. He frowned as he shook the bottle; he was almost out. "Leas' it's not going to waste, like the rest of this goddamn galaxy." He took another sip, and quite enjoyed the tingling burn of alcohol down his throat.

He grumbled as he moved his legs, the spurs digging into the ground painfully, but he could barely feel it. "S'it 'cause I'm not like you?" he asked the empty air around him, feeling a wave of nausea creeping up on him. He drowned it with another drink. "Maaaybe..." he trailed off, his train of thought derailing. His mandibles fell slack around his face, and he felt just about ready to fall asleep right then. "She's beautiful..."

His eyes closed, just as a familiar hissing sound reached his ears, followed by an even more familiar voice. "Garrus?"

His eyes shot open and he looked at the doorway. The door was shut, but in front of it was a very blurry-looking Shepard. He groaned inwardly, wondering if the wine had been spiked. Now he was hallucinating about her.

"Not right now," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, only to clang his metal cuff against his face painfully.

"Are you alright?" He fixed her with a glare, as well as he could manage, anyway. She looked at him as if it was genuinely concerned, as if he really mattered. He laughed out loud at the thought.

"M'fine." He moved to take another drink, but the bottle was picked cleanly out of his hands. He looked up at her and wondered if that could actually happen. He was tripping hard enough to see her though, so why stop there? 

He could see her more clearly now, outfitted in something blue that he couldn't quite make out. "You're drunk," she announced with an accusatory stare. He shook his head to clear the bleariness, just as she crouched in front of him. She was watching him carefully, and he blinked slowly under the inspection.

"And you're not real. So what?" This time she blinked, and her face shifted into an expression he just couldn't interpret in this state. There was too much alcohol running through his veins for anything but basic instincts. Like drinking or sleeping, both of which he'd like to do right now, instead of talking to a figment of his imagination.

"'Nough with the talking, things are bad," he mumbled, moving his head away from her, only to hit the wall with his fringe.

"What's wrong?" He focused on her face a little better and stared at her incredulously, then snorted.

"Doesn't matter. G'away." She moved to touch him, then pulled back, for which he was grateful for. He didn't know what it meant if she could make him feel physical contact. At the very least, he'd consider himself clinically insane.

"Please?" He sighed at her, melancholy filling the void that she'd left, not for the first time that night. He didn't want to talk to himself, but who else would listen to his ramblings? And anyway, he was alone in here, so at least no one would hear him.

"She's not here anymore, not when I need her." He paused, forcing back the depressing subvocals that threatened to come through his voice, though he doubted he was doing a very good job of it. "Mom's dead, Sol and Dad are missing." He rested his head against the wall before continuing, "And Shepard..." he swallowed heavily. Just saying her name broke his flimsy attempt at keeping his voice clear, and his voice trembled painfully. "she's done with Garrus Vakarian. Just a failed C-Sec officer, failed vigilante. Who can't do right." He stared at her, blinking slowly, waiting for a reply at his outburst.

"Garrus..." She put her hand on his, and he flinched away, but she held him in place. She felt warm, calloused, and real. He flinched; this was too much for his mind to handle at the moment. "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"I..." He was keening, goddamnit. Like a runt in training crying about his first crush. Any proper turian would rather be shot than be heard making sounds like these. He felt pathetic; no wonder Shepard had left him. "I gave my best," he mumbled lamely, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "Guess it wasn't enough." She was quiet, so he filled the silence with more rambling. "She's Commander Shepard after all, she's got... better. She deserves better."

He closed his eyes with finality, determined to fall asleep and wake up with a vicious hangover and no recollection of this conversation with himself. He was jerked back into consciousness, however, when she pressed her palm against his unscarred mandible, his skin picking up every detail on hers. He tried desperately not to lean into her touch, she wasn't real after all, but he couldn't stop himself. But there was nothing stopping him from indulging in his screwed-up daydream now.

"Thought maybe if I made it off Menae, I'd go find her. Make sure she was safe. Spirits, I don't know what I'd do if she died again... First time was hard enough." He opened his eyes and fixed her with a glare. "But I lost her again. Screwed it all up." He let his gaze fall and sighed heavily, letting the strength in his body go with the air from his lungs. "'Least this time I'll be there. Watch her six. Won't fail her again." Sleep threatened to overwhelm him again, so he relaxed at let it. He'd had enough of this conversation with a figment of his imagination.

He was about to completely pass out again when he felt a warm sensation against his mouth; pleasant, but he couldn't place it. His eyes opened once more to see what was going on, and was utterly surprised to see her mouth pressed against his. The details of her face were vivid in his vision, from the slope of her nose to the individual strands of hair that fell around her face. He stared at her, and wondered frantically if hallucinations were supposed to even do this. A nagging part of him told him no, this was definitely not normal. She looked so real this close up, and he briefly entertained the idea that it was actually Shepard. He quickly shot that idea down though, because it was utterly ridiculous. He didn't know much about humans, but he was certain that their breakups didn't involve kissing.

Eventually, she pulled away, studying his face closely through warm eyes that held a glint of... sadness? He couldn't tell. "Let's get you to bed," she said quietly, getting up and lifting him to his feet. He complied, not entirely sure of what was going on, but he was beyond caring at this point. He was unsteady on his feet, so she held him up with an arm around his waist, walking forward through the main battery and down the gangway. He idly thought that if she was holding him up, she was real, coupled with the horror of spouting his feelings to the actual Shepard, but the alcohol in him did quick work of forgetting that thought. He let her steer him and did his best to not put too much of his weight on her, but he figured he was doing a pretty bad job of that too.

The lights of the crew hall were painful behind his pupils, so he let his eyes close, drifting off. "Stay with me, Garrus," she grunted, and with a tired breath he opened his eyes again and looked forward, trying to put one foot in front of the other without falling over. He heard a voice from what sounded like very far away; it was feminine and familiar, but for some reason he was having trouble placing it.

"Shepard, what are you doing?" it asked, and he tried to swing his head toward the source, but didn't manage to move more than an inch.

"Taking him to bed."

"His room is down here. Or... You're taking him to your cabin? You can't be serious, Shepard, I thought —"

"He's drunk," Shepard gritted between her teeth from beside him, "I'm not leaving him on the battery floor, Liara." Ah, there was the name. The other woman huffed loudly.

"With the way you left earlier, and now this. Do what you want, Shepard." There was the sound of boots clicking against the floor, then nothing else. Shepard was silent.

They kept moving forward, the lights swinging in a pleasant dance above him, before he was stopped by a pull against his chest. He sagged against her unconsciously, pleasantly aware of the warmth radiating from her. Before he could get used to it though she was moving him again, and he complied wearily. The lights weren't as bright in this new place, except for what looked like a wall of blue on his left. The place was familiar but, like the voice, he had trouble figuring out the specifics. He stumbled on the stairs that he didn't see, nearly falling over, but she caught him and yanked him back by the arm.

Everything went dark for a moment, and Garrus became aware of the soft, cushiony substance his face was pressed into. He felt a push against his side, so he complied and rolled over. His cowl panged a bit, but he ignored it in favour of enjoying the comfortable thing he was lying on. He couldn't stop sleep from grabbing hold this time, and let it take him under. Within moments, he was out like a light.


	4. Breaking Even

The holo-clock on the bedside table glared at Shepard, informing her of the ungodly hour, but she ignored it. Her head was still pounding from being woken up so abruptly by EDI half an hour ago to warn her about Garrus' current state. She'd rushed a little too quickly to get dressed, fearing the worst; instead, she had found him keeled over and thoroughly wasted on the floor. She had never seen him so vulnerable, and some of the things he'd said....

She moved to sit on the bed and watched Garrus' sleeping form, nudging his legs with one hand to move him into a more comfortable position, where his leg spurs didn't jab into the mattress. His chest rose and fell at a steady, impossibly slow rhythm that she recognized from long-gone nights spent together. There hadn't been many of them in the first place, but she had lain awake to memorize little details like this, not wanting to miss the few moments they did have for each other.

She reached out her hand to gently follow a blue arc on his armour down the length of his chest. It was a natural gesture that gave her a wisp of comfort, though it had been a different pattern on a different set of armour; a habit born of familiarity, just like the way he would trace small circles on the back of her hand when they stood close to each other. The action had always held some sort of significance for him, some sense of awe and protectiveness that he would never openly admit to but she couldn't help but feel. The only time she had actually seen outward expression of emotion from him had been the night before she turned herself in to the Alliance.

It had been a spur of the moment thing, really. They'd docked on the Citadel one last time to drop off the crew members who couldn't (or wouldn't) travel to Earth. She'd expected that he hadn't left, of course, it wasn't like him to leave without saying something before. However, she hadn't expected him to barge into her cabin where she had been reading quietly, displaying an uncharacteristic show of force as he'd pulled her out of her chair, threw the datapad aside and pinned her against the wall. They'd made love many times that night, him in desperation and her in quiet sadness. It was the only night where he hadn't fallen asleep.

For months afterward, the memory of that night had kept her company, whether she liked it or not. She couldn't fathom to understand what he'd been thinking, and she figured at the time she'd never get the chance to ask him again. But today, she understood it; his drunken words were honest, and she'd learned much more in twenty minutes than in the three months of intimacy they had shared. The most painful part of it all was the realization that the decision she'd made just two hours earlier had been the wrong one.

Her had had drifted to the latch of his chestplate, which felt different than she remembered on his old set. She hesitated for a moment, then clicked it open experimentally. It got her mind thinking of how uncomfortable the armour must have been to sleep in, though she didn't know how he preferred to sleep (or where he slept on the ship at all, for that matter). The headache he'd have in the morning would be bad enough; he didn't need the bruises from metal jabbing into his body to add to that.

Yes, she reasoned, she'd have to take it off. She'd be lying if she didn't feel a pang of guilty excitement at the idea, despite how awful it made her feel. She had been the one to dump him, and now she was taking advantage of him while he was sleeping? Appalling.

Her fingers found the latches of his gauntlets and armplates easily, though it was harder to undo the ones of the arm he was laying on. She clicked them off and set the pieces in neat pile beside her, carefully avoiding clanging the metal together. His undersuit glinted in the dim blue light, and upon a closer look she realized he'd upgraded to something with a rather high-tech underweave, which was heavier and stronger than what she used herself, and also not publically available. She wondered for a moment how well being an expert Reaper advisor paid, if he'd been upgrading to pieces even she would have to pull some strings to get access to. 

It made her realize just how much their circumstances had changed. While she'd been locked up, he'd been making a difference, determined to do something as always. The first time he'd ended up on Omega, a vigilante with nothing other than the rifle on his back and the squad that fought with him. The second time, he'd ended up rising through the ranks of the Hierarchy, far beyond than even she would have imagined. There was such a stark difference between the two paths. It made her wonder what he could have become if she hadn't intervened in his life three years ago in the wards and let him come with her; he'd have no doubt been a decorated officer or soldier by now, that was for sure. He could have been a lot if she hadn't gotten in the way.

But she had, and she'd contributed to the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on for the past few months, to her own chagrin. To hear that his mother had died... it was hard to swallow. Garrus had been aware that she knew about his mother, and she'd even planned to take him back to Palaven after she wrapped up business after the suicide mission, perhaps meet the woman herself. But that would never happen now, and the thought depressed her as much as seeing him in this condition.

Her attention returned to the pieces of armor still on him, so she continued to remove them. His shoulderplate buckle proved to be somewhat more problematic, mostly because she couldn't find the darned thing. She felt around gently, and accidentally brushed her fingers along the back of his neck, where she remembered he had a particularly sensitive spot. He stirred, and she mentally chastised herself. The last thing she needed was him to wake up while she was undressing him. Eventually she found the latch and his shoulderplate fell with a clang against his chestpiece, making him stir again. She froze in place, studying his face for any sign of movement, then breathed a sigh when his breathing returned to its normal pace; she was doing an awful job of this.

She skipped the chestplate for now and opted to get rid of his greaves and boots first, which were much easier to undo, if she remembered correctly. She undid them on both legs fairly easily, and added them to the pile, which was now spreading to the floor. She left his codpiece on for now, not trusting herself with that area just yet.

Her attention fell to the complicated buckles on his chestplate. From the position he was in, she'd be able to undo most of the clasps and remove the front, but the back would be slightly more problematic, as it contoured to his chest in a way that would make it hard to remove without lifting him. This new set of armour was much more form fitted on the inside to his body than the last one, which was charred to all hell, and she had no doubt he'd gotten this one custom-made. It certainly made her life a tad more difficult.

She undid the buckles as quietly as she could, finding each little one with relative ease. As the last one came loose, she wriggled the front plate off carefully. She sighed quietly then despite herself; she wished she'd been doing this in the heat of passion than in the pit of self-deprecation she currently found herself in. Pushing the thought aside, she set herself to the task of figuring out how to remove the back plate. It hooked around his side slightly, making it impossible to just pull off, so she resorted to gently lifting him and pulling the plate off in one quick motion. She held her breath for a moment after setting him down, praying that he didn't wake. Thankfully, he didn't.

She managed to pull off the other shoulderplate, then let herself look at him for a moment. His face was relaxed, far more than she was used to, his mandibles and browplates slacked. The image of his sleeping so peacefully was two parts endearing and one part heartwrenching. She reached her hand toward his face hesitantly, then traced his scarred mandible with a finger. Thankfully, he didn't stir. She followed natural lines of his face down his neck, until she reached the neck clasp of his undersuit. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether she wanted to violate his privacy by undoing it. No, she concluded, and pulled her hand away. Instead, she skirted it over the underweave that clung to his carapace. She skirted over the chest ridge and alien lines of his torso, purposely avoiding going any lower than halfway. Turian waists were sensitive to touch, and she couldn't risk that right now.

Suddenly, she pulled her hand away, bringing herself back to the task at hand. His codpiece was still on, and she was relieved to see that the buckles were relatively well-placed and easy to remove. Which was fine by her, because she wasn't shameless enough to feel up his pubic plates, by accident or not. She clicked them open and they loosened on either side of him; with a slight lift of his hips she pulled them off and added them to the pile.

She paused then, and studied his form, the alien lines that she found rather attractive drawing her in. She wondered absently when she'd begun to appreciate the turian form more; probably somewhere between the start of their awkward courtship and their first intimate encounter before the suicide mission. She'd had many opportunities to study him more carefully after that, and she felt a pang of loss realizing that she wouldn't be able to do it again.

Loss was an odd feeling, because really, she'd always have what was most important: his friendship. Yet still, she felt like she'd lost something huge, something that she couldn't get over this time. They'd never labelled their relationship before, and she'd never thought to think it through. But now... now she knew. It wasn't just friends, bedfellows, companions; there was something else, something that broke the steady resolve she'd kept over years of watching friends die. He was still alive beside her, and yet she'd lost him. The emotion was unbearable, and for the first time in many years, she felt her throat go dry and tighten painfully. It almost felt like she had forgotten to breathe. She didn't know what this was, why it was happening, and honestly, she didn't want to know. The truth was too hard to face.

She resisted the temptation to touch him again as she pulled away, rising before she lost the will to restrain herself. She needed to sleep sometime soon, and it wouldn't be right to crawl into the bed beside him. With one last, long look, she pulled something more comfortable to sleep in from her locker, along with a blanket, and dressed quietly. She picked up the pillow on the other side of the bed and positioned it on the couch, opening up the folds of the blankets and crawling into her makeshift bed. It was comfortable enough, and it was best if she slept there tonight.


	5. Afraid to Fall

The first thing Garrus became aware of was the painful pounding of his head. His brain felt like slush as he tried to force his eyes open, but apparently his neurons were barely working this morning. He experimentally moved each one of his toes and fingers, then took a slow breath, which made a vein in his skull throb. Slowly, but surely, he began to register small feelings coming from his senses. He could feel the warmth of the thoroughly tangled sheets, the dryness of his mouth as he tried to swallow, and the scent of soap and citrus that reminded him so much of —

He almost literally flew out of the bed, staggering to his feet and using the ledge by the wall to support himself. He'd bumped his toe on the bedside table, but ignored the pain as he opened his eyes and shook his head. His vision was blurry and he could just make out the things in the room, though he couldn't place where he was. Shepard's scent was everywhere around him, teasing him ruthlessly, and he managed to stifle a groan as another bolt of pain ran through his skull. He struggled to remember what exactly happened the night before, though the residual effects of alcohol made that difficult. 

He stretched his arms tentatively, popping the stiff joints, then looked down at his own body. His armour was completely gone, and all he had on was his clingy undersuit; he could do with a shower, both to clear up his head and get the sticky feeling off his plates. He closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly for a moment, then blinked a few times before looking up again. Thankfully his vision had cleared up a tad, and everything looked much sharper.

A brief glance around told him everything he needed to know. Though things were a little different here than the last time he'd been up, he was definitely in Shepard's cabin, though the owner was nowhere to be found apparently. He stiffened in place at the realization and a deep feeling of dread settled within him. What had he done last night? Had he...? No, he thought frantically, not even if he was drunk would he do something like that to Shepard, and she wouldn't let him either. Nevertheless, the feeling that he'd done something truly awful didn't leave him as he tried to find his balance. He took a few tentative steps forward, and, satisfied that he wouldn't fall over, started looking for his armour.

The room was darkened, which made it a little difficult to find his suit, and he trudged around in search of it. Eventually his foot clanged against something near her armour locker, and he looked down to see his armour piled neatly on the ground beside him. He definitely hadn't put it there; otherwise the plates would have been in a messy heap or scattered across the room. He stumbled backward a bit and nearly tripped on a cable, then managed to lower himself down into an awkward crouch to start putting his armour on.

He was in the middle of securing his upper armguards when she stirred, though he didn't hear her at first. There was rustling, and then a slight intake of breath, but he didn't notice until he heard his name.

"Garrus?" The shoulderplate in his hand fell to the ground with a clang as he spun around and got up way too quickly for his mind to process. She was sitting on the couch, dressed in clothing he recognized as her sleeping clothes. The shirt was sleeveless and bared a lot of her skin, and he tried his best to stop the flush of blue blood to his fringe, caused by a mixture of embarrassment and a touch of guilty arousal. She set the blanket clumped in her hand beside her, then ran the other hand through her hair in a futile effort to smooth it down. She looked like she always did when she woke up, and the image sent a wave of reminiscence and pain through him. Hair ruffled, eyes bleary and doe-like, and lips curved into a slight frown at being woken; Spirits, he'd missed seeing her like this. 

He eventually managed to bring himself out of his reverie, just to stammer a few words out. "I - Shepard, I'm -" An odd look entered her eyes upon hearing his voice, which he didn't understand and desperately wished he did. It made the pit of anxiety in his stomach grow, and he mentally kicked himself again for getting so drunk last night. He was such an idiot.

He remained frozen in place for a moment longer, awkward tension stretching between the two of them, as he waited for her to say something, anything. She was looking him over, from the shoulderplate on the ground to the caught-in-the-headlights expression on his face. Eventually she got off the couch and stretched experimentally, and he took the opportunity to bolt. Without even thinking of his armour, he turned and headed up the stairs as fast as his still-inebriated mind would let him.

He managed to make it up just two of them before a firm grip on his arm pulled him back, and he went crashing back down, nearly falling on his ass. Another hand had shot out to hold him up though, and he was grateful for it. She spun him around to face her, then, and he met her eyes just for a moment before lowering them again.

"Where are you going?" she asked, in a rather demanding tone. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, trying to form the words, then sighed in defeat.

"I'm sorry, for... whatever I did last night. I -" She interrupted him with a hand against the scarred side of his face, bringing his face up. For a moment, he kept his eyes down, then finally found the courage to look up.

"You didn't do anything last night. Honestly, I should be the one apologizing here." Despite himself, he stared at her incredulously.

"Shepard, I don't know about you but I woke up this morning with a hangover and in my commanding officer's bed. That pretty much spells out stupid."

To his surprise, she sighed and let go of him, turning away. "It's not your fault, Garrus, really. I brought you up here after finding you in the main battery." His mandibles fell slack in surprise. Surely she was kidding, right?

"Uh... why?" was all he managed to say. She looked back up at him, looking a little sheepish.

"I don't know where you sleep on the ship, to be honest, and I wasn't about to leave you on the floor."

This time he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh... well, thanks." He briefly considered telling her where his sleeping quarters were, but couldn't manage to think of words that didn't sound like he was propositioning her. An awkward silence fell between them, both waiting for the other to say something.

"Hey, I -" Garrus started, just as she said, "Listen, there's -" The both stopped and looked at each other, then laughed nervously.

"You first," she offered, stepping back a little. He swallowed and tilted his head by a miniscule amount.

"Just wanted to say that I... appreciate you looking out for me. Sorry for being a pain last night, it won't happen again. And," he chanced putting a hand on her upper arm gently, "I'll be watching your six, no matter what."

She stared at him as he pulled away, the look in her eyes both fathomless and foreign. He blinked a couple of times, but didn't back down from her gaze. She unconsciously bit the inside of her cheek, something she'd do when she wanted to say something but was thinking it through before opening her mouth, so he waited patiently for her reply.

Finally, she sighed. "There's something I need to ask you." She turned away and walked toward the fishtank, her posture solemn, while he stood on the spot, waiting. "What would you do if I died, Garrus?"

The question caught him off-guard, partly because he didn't really have an answer to that. He'd be a wreck, that was for sure, but that wasn't something he could tell her. Perhaps fill the void left by her with revenge, like he did for his squad, but that hardly seemed like a worthy action to honour Shepard. Maybe finish her fight for her; yes, that made the most sense, though he didn't know if he had it in him. He tilted his head in thought.

"I don't know," he admitted. She turned to look at him for a moment as silence fell between them. 

"Hmm," was her reply. He didn't know if she was waiting for him to add more to his answer, but he remained quiet. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly, approaching him and stopping very close to him. "I really am."

"What for?" he asked, thoroughly confused.

"For yesterday, for leaving," she turned away again so he couldn't see her face, then started speaking so rapidly he was reminded of Mordin, "it was the wrong decision, and I wish I could take it back, I really do. I thought maybe it would be the best for you, that it —" He held up a hand to stop her.

"You're telling me you ended it because it would be best for me?" he asked, incredulous. She nodded, then turned to face him again, jaw clenched. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. "Shepard, look, you don't have to make up things like this to make me feel better. You're entitled to do whatever you like." He ran a hand over his fringe, then rubbed the back of his neck again. "Just, don't do this, not out of pity, please."

Now she was biting her lip, which was confusing the hell out of him. He didn't know what that meant, and the rest of her face was twisted into an expression he couldn't read. He resisted the urge to sigh as he waited for her to reply.

"If anything, it's self-pity," she said quietly. He exhaled; he was too hung over to comprehend any of this, and he didn't trust that he was completely sober enough to do the right thing in this situation.

"Help me out here, Shepard. I don't know what you want," he muttered, slightly more exasperated than he meant. She looked at him sharply.

"What I want? What do you want, Garrus? Tell me." Her voice was soothing rather than harsh. He resisted the urge to shake his head; they really were no good at communicating off the battlefield. And anyway, what could he say to that? Telling her the truth would just make bigger issues between them right now, which was the last thing he wanted. He was frustrated at this whole situation; he just wanted to lock himself up in the main battery and try to get over her at his own pace. But nope, he'd gotten himself wasted and now he was stuck in this bizarre situation, where he couldn't figure out what Shepard was trying to say to him.

He merely shrugged in reply, in the end. He couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't break the tentative peace they currently held. It was the wrong answer though apparently, as he saw the muscles in her neck tense. Maybe she'd kick him out now? It would definitely be a welcome relief. Dead air hung between them as they stared at each other. He was relieved when she finally spoke again.

"I'll just put it all out in the open for you then. I made a mistake when I ended it. I thought it was the right thing, because I didn't know how you'd react if I ended up injured, or worse. But after last night..." he opened his mouth to speak, but she waved his question away with a hand before continuing. "It's not important. I just want to know, have I screwed this up too much to fix it?"

For the second time in less than a day, his mind went blank. She surely wasn't implying what he thought she was, right? He blinked a few times, then rubbed his temple with a covered talon.

"Shepard, don't do this if you don't mean it." His voice sounded weak, broken. He cursed at himself for it. She took a step toward him, then pulled his hand down from his face and took it in her own. He exhaled the breath he'd apparently been holding, and found the confidence to look at her. He could finally read her expression: a mix of sadness, regret, and hope. He'd never seen her so vulnerable.

"I mean it." She paused, then added, "this is as much for me as for you."

Perhaps it was the remnants of alcohol in his system, or perhaps the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on since last night. Either way, he quelled the self-deprecating thoughts in his mind, and breathed, finally breathed. None of this made any rational sense, but it all fit together perfectly subconsciously for him. He took a moment to look at her, memorize her, keep her for his own right then. She'd given him the opportunity to feel justice, passion, companionship, but most of all, love, and just being able to admit that to himself gave him the strength he needed to take what he wanted. He could finally let go.

And so he did. His skin felt sticky and his head was pounding, and she looked no better for wear, but none of those little things mattered right now. He pulled his hand out of hers and wrapped both hands around her waist, then pulled her against him and held her there, crushing her to his chest. She was completely relaxed in his arms, her body melding to his just as he remembered. The faintest sound of a whimper left her, and he pulled her impossibly tighter to him, refusing to ever let go this time.

No, he thought, he hadn't lost her yet. And he'd be damned if he let anything change that fact.


End file.
